


Sorry, Jack

by DelgadoAinley



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time Blow Jobs, Hannibal in leather, Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-05 19:25:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4191996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelgadoAinley/pseuds/DelgadoAinley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because the leather jacket Hannibal wears in Antipasto really needs to become canon. </p><p>Will, Jack and Hannibal were due to have a meeting over the latest killer to hit the FBI books. That is, until Hannibal arrives for said meeting on a motorbike and wearing that leather.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He followed the dogs out onto the porch, scratching at his stomach, grey cotton t shirt riding up as he did, watching them bound out across the grass. The mug of coffee in his hand was pleasantly hot, though it wasn't the exquisite blend Hannibal used. Will was fairly sure the doctor had that imported first class from Colombia, probably wrapped in silk. Though it tasted like bitter almonds when compared to the taste of the doctors' skin. Will blinked - that escalated quickly - and returned to watching his dogs amble about on the grass. He dropped to sit on the porch steps, leaning against the white painted balustrade, bare feet sticking out onto the cool, wet grass. His other hand dropped an FBI file onto his pyjama shorts and opened it, glancing down from the dogs to the graphic images contained in manila. 

It always gave him a start, these images. No matter how much he knew they would be there, or how much Jack prepared him before he walked into a scene. Though he had seen this particular crime scene in the flesh, the Polaroid’s still gave him a sickening jolt in his stomach - where are you hiding? - he thought, forcing himself to look at them. A woman shredded, there was no other word for it, organs spilled out onto the floor. Each organ pierced through with a knife, like some kind of grisly butchers shop display. A man, spine torn from his skin, suspended from the ceiling. He remembered the scene, stepping around the blood, his mind ticking in its uncomfortable way. The killer's mind forcing out his own, though there was enough of him left to recognize Hannibal's slow stalking through the room, to stand underneath the spine and look up. His hands had been neatly in his suit pants, his blazer fitted perfectly to the curve of his own spine and the swell of his ass. Despite the murderous thoughts in his mind, Will had half smiled. It had grown into a soft, full smile as he recognized the thoughtful, considering look on Hannibal's face as he observed the spine. The mind of a medical man marking out each vertebrae, each nerve in the spinal cord. His intelligence was as attractive as the blonde hair falling over the dark eyes. Then the killer had screamed in his head and his attention had snapped back. 

 

The Polaroids shook on his thighs as his attention snapped back once more. -Focus- One of the dogs, hoping for food, came scuffling around his feet. "You ate," Will told him simply, scratching behind the floppy ears. "You're a pig." The dog agreed, wagging. He leant back, twisting his head awkwardly to see the clock hanging in the kitchen from where he sat. Hannibal and Jack were due in two hours, a Sunday morning meeting to talk about this latest crime. Originally, it had been his and Hannibal's Sunday, but Jack had suddenly decided to call this meeting, ruining their plans. He remembered the rigid tension in Hannibal's face, the ever so slight narrowing of the eyes, the furious twitch near the curving lips. The rage in Hannibal then, had led to a night of bruises and sore thighs, to making Will wish maybe Jack would pi Hannibal off more often, if that was the result. Of course, the result could always be Jack risotto too. 

 

He settled back once more, two hours of nothingness spreading out. The killers mind danced on the edges of his own, whispering like poison. Will stood and walked, to orient himself with the ground beneath his feet and the scent of pine in the trees. Two of the dogs were fighting over a toy, half buried in the grass. Will nudged the larger dog away with his foot, before crouching to pat them both, murmuring an affectionate telling off, which neither dog listened to. Instead, they fell silent; tilting their heads and ears towards a sound only they could hear. 

 

A few moments later, Will heard it too. The mechanical roar of a motorbike, slicing through the still morning. He stood, sighing. No Hannibal or Jack then, he had been hoping maybe Hannibal would show earlier, just some fool who'd taken a wrong turn on a Sunday morning jaunt to the city, bursting the silence with his motorb...oh. 

 

He knew that posture, that graceful leaning forward, as coiled as the machine beneath him. Instead of some yuppie up from the city, it was Hannibal on that bike. Black and sleek and weaving up the path to his house in a way that it probably didn't need to. Hannibal was just managing to be smug on a motorbike. Will remained where he was, one of the dogs jumping up with its paws outstretched. Will caught the paws without looking, couldn't look away from the curving of the bike, the sliding into the gravel which also probably didn’t need to happen. "Ssssh" he told the dog, scratching an ear. "Don't get too excited," though he wasn’t sure whether he was talking to the dog or himself there. "It's not a stranger," he reassured, settling the dog back onto all four paws. "It's daddy's peace/reason for existence/fire in my veins/no biggie." A wide grin cracked his face, secure in the knowledge that Hannibal was much too far away as he parked the bike to have heard that. 

 

The grin faltered, sliding off his face like an egg off the pan, his lips forming an overly large O instead. Hannibal was wearing bike leathers. Will groaned out loud, shoving his fist in his mouth quickly and hoping the sound didn't carry as far as the porch, where Hannibal was throwing one thigh over the motorbike to climb off it. Will's eyes were glued to the movement, to the soft, jet black leather pants molded to him. Hannibal was wearing an equally jet black leather jacket, padded and thick. A black helmet covered that face, while Hannibal deftly undid the catch of the helmet. He took it off, the onyx of his outfit throwing dark blonde hair into stark relief. Will wondered if the leather was as soft as it looked, if Hannibal looked as dangerously himself up close. 

 

"Bad move, Lecter," he commented. 

 

Or good move, if you were Will. 

 

Hannibal rested his helmet on the seat of the motorbike and glanced around for Will. The other man was stood out in the field, staring at one of the dogs with an intensity that suggested to Hannibal that Will had been staring at him two seconds ago. There were two high spots of color on each of Will's pale cheekbones as Hannibal loped his way over. A small smile snuck onto his face, his breath hitching as he observed Will, the gentle grey cotton of his shirt rumpled up over the man's stomach, where he'd been scratching. The faded black of Will's boxers, old and clinging to him like a second skin. The sinewy lines of the man’s shape so often hidden under layers of clothing, a protection for the man inside them. 

 

"Good morning, William" Hannibal said, getting no more than five steps across the grass before Will came rushing at him, almost like a run. "I thought I asked you to please not wear those during work hours? It is quite distracting when I am talking to Jack Crawford and I know you're wearing those."

 

"It's not work hours," Will snarled, his voice rough, inches above a growl. Hannibal stopped dead in his walk, one blonde eyebrow arching. Fire wound through his veins in an instant, drowning out the house, the grounds around Will. "It's Sunday," Will snapped. 

 

He shoved a hand on Hannibal's chest, biting his lip so hard it flushed with blood when he realized the leather felt as soft as it looked. Hannibal's eyes dropped to his lip, watching the flush of blood. His eyes grew heated, his voice an even, calm, honeyed tone when he spoke. "That it is good Will. But do you not get dressed when Jack is coming to your house?" There was a final edge to the words, a hint of anger at the idea. 

 

"How dare you," Will snapped again, Hannibal's other eyebrow arching up to meet the first. 

 

"How have I offended you, William?" he asked, the honey in his voice growing thicker, deeper, as he observed the dilation of Will's pupils, the rise and fall of his chest, the feel of the clenched fist on his own ribcage, the scent...the scent coming off the man in waves. His nostrils flared. 

 

"Coming here, looking like that. How dare you come here looking like that when...when Jack is coming!" Will barked, fisting his hand around the leather collar and yanking suddenly, tugging Hannibal forward a few steps. "Inside. Now," he ordered. Hannibal's eyes dilated. He tilted his head to one side, revealing a muscular neck sheathed in leather. “Are you perhaps experiencing some thought blocking Will?” A teasing smile played on the bowed lips.

He smiled with the Devil's own smile, showing incisors. "One cannot wear a suit on a mo..." His next words were forced closed by Will's mouth suddenly viciously up against his. The first kiss was frenzied and the second bloodied. Will's fist was curled in the leather collar of the jacket as he kissed; tightening it around Hannibal's neck and dragging the man inside, stumbling backwards up the porch steps. His free hand reached behind him blindly, fumbling for the doorknob and turning it, dragging them both inside. Will caught Hannibal's lower lip between his teeth and tugged. Hannibal's hands came up around him suddenly, grapping his hips and lifting Will bodily onto the kitchen counter. Hannibal stood in between Will's legs, one hand one either thigh, fingers on bare skin. He reluctantly pulled out of Will's reach, leaning back a little. After a moment he snuck forward again, to nip at Will's jawline, the stubble rough against his own. "Does this have such an effect on you William?" he said amused, locking his right hand around the base of Will's throat, pressing the man backwards on the counter, the heat of his lips on Will's throat making the man shiver. Hannibal smiled at the response, looking up with those eyes, "Remember, we have Jack in less than..." he lifted his eyes briefly from Will to check the clock, "an hour and a half, dear heart."

 

Will grabbed at Hannibal's jaw roughly, directing it back to him. Hannibal's eyes were almost black and he caught the back of Will's neck, pulling the man towards him. Will slammed a hand into Hannibal's chest again, keeping him tantalizing inches from his prey. Hannibal gave him a frustrated look, slightly confused when Will pushed his mobile into Hannibal's hand. "No, he's not," Will ordered. He didn't miss the way Hannibal's breath hitched at the order. He pointed to the phone. "Call him. Call him now and make up something. Tell him I've lost time, lost my dinner, lost my marbles. Tell him something, Hannibal."

 

Amused, Hannibal dialed Jack's number as Will slid down from the counter. The doctor gave him an aggrieved look to see him hop down, pointing for Will to go back. Will walked behind him and Hannibal closed his eyes, picking out the placement of the Agent in the room through scent alone. Will was behind him, to the right, the sound of cotton sliding over skin. 

 

"Will? You got something for me already?" Jack's voice was a brusque interruption. 

 

"I am afraid our good Will is indisposed, Jack."

 

"Doctor Lecter? Are you there already, man? Damn it, I can be...wait...what's wrong with Will? Is he okay?" It wasn't anxiety that spiked in Jack's voice, but frustration. They couldn’t afford Will to be unstable right now. Hannibal's lips tightened. He was well aware that Jack viewed Will as a precious teacup, yet he grew frustrated when the teacup refused to sit quietly in the cupboard and perform when asked. 

 

"He will be fine, Jack, but he will be unable to contribute to your brainstorm today. Perhaps tomorrow?" Hannibal said flatly. 

 

Without opening his eyes, he knew Will was right in front of him. He opened them then; Will was watching him, pushing his glasses back on his nose with a finger. He reached out a hand, stroked Hannibal's throat down to the leather jacket. Hannibal caught his hand and brought it to his lips, resting Will's fingers against his lower lip. 

 

"We only have a limited time frame to catch this guy, Dr Lecter. Is there any way Will can still have us?"

 

Will, able to hear the conversation through the speaker of the phone, shook his head forcefully. He indicated that Hannibal should close his eyes once more. Hannibal arched an eyebrow in question, amused. A crooked smile tugged at his lips. When Hannibal watched him, Will frowned, dark eyebrows knotting together. "Now, Hannibal," he ordered, voice rough. 

 

He shut his eyes as ordered, feeling the leather too tight, too constricting around him. He wanted to throw the phone at the wall, throw Will over his shoulder, on the floor. 

 

"Doctor Lecter?"

 

"No," Hannibal replied coldly. "I am sorry Jack, William is unwell. He is disassociating, losing time. It would be unfair to subject him to a further analysis of our killer today." His voice hitched on the last few words as he felt Will's hands on the soft leather. 

 

"I missed your last part," Jack said. 

 

"It would be unfair..." Hannibal opened his eyes, looked down. The sight of Will, kneeling on the floor in front of him, the dark curls inches from his fingertips and looking up at him, hungrily, undid him. Hannibal's fingers curled around the phone to throw it. 

 

"No you don't," Will whispered, running his tongue over his lips. "You finish your conversation, doctor." 

 

Hannibal glared at him. Repercussions would come. 

 

"It would be unfair, “he started again, “to expect William to undertake a further analysis of our kill..." He swallowed, breath catching in his throat as he felt Will’s mouth against the soft leather of his pants. He stopped talking for a long moment, eyes closed and the full lower lip caught between his teeth. Will adjusted his kneeling position on the floor, his gaze locked on Hannibal. It was hard to concentrate when the controlled man above him was dancing around coming undone. His boxers were impossibly tight.  
“Listen, I know you have a therapeutic concern for Will, but I think if he could just undertake a further analysis for us, we’d be that step closer to finding this asshole Dr Lecter. He’s killed 3 people already.”  
4 actually, Hannibal thought, the rest of his power of rational thought neatly running out the door as Will unzipped him, the other mans’ mouth instantly on him, wet heat enveloping his cock. The sight of those lips wrapped around him made him diamond hard and he growled low, in the back of his throat, tightening his hand in the dark curls below him. 

 

"William!" Hannibal's voice was a harsh, guttural yell into the phone.

 

"What?" Jack yelled in reply, rudely jarring Hannibal back to the phone call. "Is Will okay? Do you need some help? I can prob..." Hannibal could hear the jangle of car keys as Jack prepared to head to his car, ride in like the cavalry and ruin this perfect moment.

 

"No, thank you Jack," Hannibal managed, taking every ounce of his control to keep his voice steady and even. "Will is disassociating, he ran out of the house and over his lawn. I was not expecting such behavior." 

 

A vibration thrilled along his cock making him clutch at the counter, his fist pulling at Will's hair painfully. He realized the vibration was Will laughing. Will added to it by humming pleasantly and Hannibal groaned, cursing in Lithuanian. Will gurgled something, too full of Hannibal to actually speak. Hannibal ended the phone call instantly, disconnecting Jack’s voice from the day. 

 

Hannibal's hand dropped to Will's firm shoulder urgently, a low curling in his stomach, grabbing at Will's shoulders. "Get off your knees, Will." Will steadfastly remained where he was, on his knees. He scrabbled in his pocket for his notepad and pen, dropping them on the floor, sliding his mouth to the very tip and winking at Hannibal. He scribbled something loosely, drawing his tongue around the tip, his eyes glowing as he handed the notepad to Hannibal. 

 

"It isn't your turn to order."

 

Hannibal's eyes became pinpricks for a split second, then a slow, sexy smile that set Will's stomach jumping crept over his face. Will grinned around the hard flesh, taking Hannibal further into his mouth, cheeks working. He held Hannibal with one hand and fumbled at his own boxers with the other. Hannibal growled again at this, trying to tug Will up by the hair. Will groaned, but remained where he was. He drew his tongue down the length of Hannibal’s cock, swirling it around the head. Hannibal panted above him, the normally pristine blonde hair mussed now as Hannibal tipped his head back, eyes blown and unfocused, staring at the ceiling, out the window, without seeing anything. “Ohhhhhh,” 

 

Will sheathed his teeth along Hannibal’s cock at the groan, adding a hint of pressure with his sheathed teeth.  
Hannibal’s hips jerked and Will’s hands slammed into his thighs to hold him there, keep him steady where he was. Hannibal whimpered as Will dragged his teeth along him, slowly sliding up and down the length of Hannibal’s cock with the rhythm of Hannibal’s hips that Will set going, controlling it with a flat hand on his thigh and one clenching fist on Hannibal’s waist, the only sign, other than his leaking cock, that Will was having trouble controlling himself. All he wanted to do was beg the older man to fuck him, but he’d wanted to do this to the Doctor ever since he met him. And Hannibal wearing the soft, black bike leathers was too good to resist, Will had been instantly hard since he’d seen him ride down the driveway. 

 

Will moaned himself at Hannibal’s whimper, sucking and licking at the taste of him. Both Hannibal’s hands threaded themselves through his curls, holding his head firmly where it was and fucking into his mouth, Hannibal begging for Will to go faster. Hannibal begging had him panting around his cock, hot breath ghosting across the sensitive skin. He reached with one hand for the notepad again, long since knocked to the floor. A scratchy scrawl appeared as he wrote, almost throwing it in Hannibal’s face as he tossed it back up. Hannibal caught it gracefully, though his face was taut and horny and Will could come just from looking at it. 

 

“Beg again.”

 

“I….” Hannibal took a moment to breathe, his breath catching and drawing out in a long, needy sounding moan. “I….do not beg, William.”

 

Will said nothing – couldn’t say anything – but he raised an eyebrow, his eyes smiling. He drew his mouth down along Hannibal’s cock, leaving just the tip on his lips and shrugged, as if it didn’t bother him. Hannibal’s hands shoved his head back where it belonged, deep throating his cock and he heard the molten, hoarse words from Hannibal’s throat. 

 

“Please. Will. mmmm, Please, Agent Graham…Will...”

 

Will closed his eyes at the lovely begging and let Hannibal dictate the pace as the man fucked into his mouth, pistoning his hips rapidly. He could feel the tension in Hannibal’s thighs and the pulsing of his cock in his mouth. Will bit gently, humming around Hannibal’s cock. Hannibal came instantly, thick, hot ropy cum filling Will’s mouth, coating his lips. Hannibal shouted his name in rough Lithuanian, in English and some other languages Will hadn’t even heard of. He rode Will’s mouth through his orgasm, finally collapsing forwards onto the counter, holding himself up on his elbows and looking down at the bright eyes looking up at him. Cum coated Will’s lips, making his smile especially wicked as he looked up at Hannibal. 

 

“Will,” Hannibal started, his voice rough. His hands curled softer now into Will’s hair, stroking the curls gently. “I’ll make you fucking pay for that."

 

Will laughed, standing up slowly and leaning back against the counter himself, caught between Hannibal’s arms either side. Hannibal kissed him, hard, licking the cum from his lips. The phone on the counter began to ring insistently once more. “You should answer that,” Will said, looking at it. “I can’t. I’ve run off across the lawn somewhere haven’t I?”

 

Hannibal gave him a withering look, tempering it with a further kiss to the soaked lips. “I shall wear leather more often.” He answered the call, sliding a sweaty thumb across the screen. 

 

“Sorry, Jack.”


	2. Faded Death & Glory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal isn't interested in the new killer the FBI is briefing them on. He isn't interested in offering Alana Bloom his professional expertise. What he is interested in, is Will Graham in a three piece suit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your lovely feedback on my first chapter! I'm sorry it took so long to get this one up, be gentle with it.

Jack dropped the manila folders onto the table with a thud loud enough to make Will jump. His thoughts had been anywhere but the cold, sterile room that they were all packed into. Glossy photographs, though not the kind you'd show your mother, spilt out of the folders and made their way across the desk. Beverly slid a few over to her, splitting them apart neatly with a finger. She sucked air between her teeth and cast a sideways glance at Will, who was fidgeting in his seat like he wanted to do anything but look at the photos. "Want to see?"

"All I ever do is see," Will muttered, earning himself a quick grin from Beverley and a worried looking frown from Alana. Still, he accepted the photos as they were offered, laying out the montage of death and faded glory in front of him. He stuck one hand underneath his thigh to calm his movements and drummed the other hand on the table in front of him. Will could see Alana continuing to give him that worried frown while he studied the images. Truth be told, the nervousness running through him like a livewire was nothing to do with the crime scene photos in front of him. It was nothing to do with the crime scene he'd witnessed, where these photos were taken. It was all to do with the fact that Dr Hannibal Lecter had been asked in to consult with Alana over old psychiatric files on this particular killer, that the good doctor would be here shortly and that Will was wearing a 3 piece suit.

That had caused a few eyes when he'd wandered in, bleary eyed this morning. His thighs were sore, his back was covered in scratches and he had only slept when Hannibal threatened to leave the room if he didn't. He smiled at the memory, feeling Alana's eyes on him again. He glanced up from beneath dark eyelashes, only this time she didn't look so worried, she looked more, interested. Will glanced away again quickly. He was uncomfortable with how the suit fit, how it looked and knowing it was garnering attention was making it worse.

The onyx jacket fit snug, swooping in just before the small of his back and out again to create a silhouette he knew suited him. It squared out his shoulders, making him sit up straight in the chair rather than slouch in it like he usually did. The trousers were snug around his ass and the waistcoat underneath felt odd. The last time he remembered wearing one was when he was 13 and went to some kids Bar Mitzvah. This waistcoat was decidedly better than the one he'd had when he was 13 though, also jet black and tapered in. For a moment this morning, he'd thought of adding a pocket watch until he decided that would be a step too far. Instead, he'd chosen Prada shoes that dug at him, reminding him they weren't joggers with every shift of his feet. Will waited until he felt Alana's gaze move off him again and focused instead on Jack.

Jack was rifling through their paperwork, pulling out the psychiatric reports the two psychiatrists would work with. He separated them, then pulled out another sheath of paper and slid it across to Will. "Diary entries," he offered. Will leant forward, interested now. "Our guy keeps a diary."

"Very helpful, for a serial killer," Bev commented, leaning near to Will to read it. He stiffened imperceptibly, disliking the intrusion into his personal space. He flicked his gaze up to her over his glasses and offered her the last 10 sheets of diary entries, so they could swap.

"Agent Crawford, Doctor Lecter," the FBI rookie currently assigned to security announced Hannibal's presence with a little nod and a hesitant waiting by the door. Hannibal swept past him and into the room, as Jack barked at the agent that it was fine to go, he didn’t need to stand around holding up the walls. Will could feel Hannibal sweep into the room like the breeze before a thunderstorm, without turning around. Then he felt Hannibal's step falter, just once, just a little, and then the man was pulling out a chair next to Alana.

"Good morning, Doctor Bloom. I believe we are to work together?"

 

"It would seem we have done this before," Alana smiled at Hannibal and Will fought the urge to suddenly knock her off her chair for the expression.

"Quite." Hannibal's attention was on hitching up the pant legs of his suit as he sat and drawing his notes from his leather satchel. It was not on Will, or the suit he had worn especially to get Hannibal's attention, hoping for the reaction that Hannibal's leather had given him. The sharp pang the knowledge gave Will made him scratch at his dark curls furiously for a minute, before focusing his attention firmly on the journal entries.

Hannibal's eyes rose from his own notes instantly. He stared at Will like a man in the desert stares at a glass of water. The very air had felt different as he walked into the room; layers of aftershave and perfume, his nose immediately scenting out the ship-on-the-bottle brand that Will used. A quick glance around the table, before he had allowed his eyes to rest on Will. Only the quick glance had never happened and he was staring at Will like the schoolboy of his youth, if he had ever had occasion to stare then. 

A Botticelli angel in Armani was studying photos in front of him, tugging furiously at a dark brown curl and chewing his lip. The suit clung to Will's shoulders like it had been crafted specifically for them. Hannibal wanted him to stand up, to see how the suit flowed over the flawless ass, desperate suddenly to see the leonine hips draped in suit trousers. Beneath the artfully cut lapels of the jacket he could see the beginnings of a waistcoat, as dark as Will's pupils. Beneath that, Hannibal could just catch a glimpse of a scarlet silk shirt. He forced himself to focus on Alana's words, to move his eyes from Will and only by pushing the iron control to its limit was he able to look back at the papers before him, to hear that Alana was creating a formulation of their patient from the old notes in front of them.

Hannibal shifted underneath the table, stretching his legs, widening his stance. He was rock hard already and the closeness of the chairs made it difficult to spread his legs wide enough to give himself relief. He knocked his chair in gracefully to the table and felt his pulse beat in his jaw. Alana was much too close, his personal space invaded by the scent of Dior and the iron she had used on her blazer. Jack took a seat on his other side, cotton and a tie that had been knotted the same way for years, the loose threads fraying. A vein in his forehead twitched. He leant back just a little in the chair, stretching out one long leg, the tan leather of his shoes nudging at Will's outstretched foot under the table. His eyes narrowed as he realized Will was wearing patent shoes rather than his usual joggers.

Will was swallowing disappointment when he felt a foot nudge him under the table. He looked up at Hannibal and froze, feeling like a rabbit staring at a wolf. The maroon eyes were narrowed, the face taut with tension and Hannibal's upper lip curled in a slight snarl. When he met Will's eyes, Hannibal let his eyes roam over Will's form, over the curls he loved to pull, the face, the suit, the sudden flash of crimson as Will moved ever so slightly in his seat, the sway of the material pulling away from his hips. Hannibal's mouth ran dry and the smile he gave Will was more teeth than anything else.

Will's eyes lit up and he grinned, a flash of white in the dull, steel room. He tore himself away from Hannibal's gaze and nodded at Jack, casually sliding a hand beneath the lapels of the suit jacket to unbutton it, pushing it back a little from his shoulders, as if he were too warm. The movement showed off the smooth waistcoat hugging to his sides like it was made of water. Will felt Hannibal's foot kick him hard under the table, wincing. His eyes rose to meet Hannibal's again, swallowing at the dark, hungry look he saw there.

"Will? Are you listening to me? I asked you what you thought from the diary entries?" Jack sounded a little pissed off, like he'd been asking for a while. Will swallowed, caught out, hearing a quiet, strangled little noise from Hannibal. His eyes slid sideways to Hannibal while he formed words with his mouth. He didn't know what they were. They could have been random verbs for all he knew. Hannibal's jaw was clenched tightly shut, a twitch in his throat and his pupils blown wide. They were jet black and dilated as he stared back at Will. The noise had come from his throat. A dark eyebrow inched upwards on Will's forehead.

He wiped a hand across said forehead and felt a smirk tuck into his cheeks. "...and I think our killer is a woman," he finished, sliding his hand slowly between the buttons on his waistcoat and undoing them with infinite patience, as if each one were made of glass and dangling over the edge of a precipice. When they were unbuttoned, he tugged the waistcoat open either side and sat back, stretching out his legs and wincing as the movement pulled the seam of the material.

"What makes you think she's a woman?" Jack asked, leaning forward and momentarily blocking Hannibal's view with his bulk. Hannibal's fingers drummed on the table ominously. The papers lay forgotten under his fingers.

"Yes, William," Hannibal said, his words bitten and rough sounding. Will coughed to hide the groan he wanted to make. He had the sudden, yawning chasm of a feeling inside him that this would either be a good move, or something he would live to regret. Maybe both. "Why do you suggest the killer is a woman?"

Will glanced back at the journal entries. "The voice that's writing, Doctor Lecter, there's too much description, too much emotion behind the words to be a male mind."

"Are you suggesting men are incapable of emotion?" Hannibal asked dangerously. The air around the table seemed to ice over.

"No," Will replied sharply, "That's not what I'm suggesting. You sho..." He stopped himself before his words went any further. You should know. You know my emotions. I know yours. What we have is stronger than the bonds woven around this table, around the mewling sheep of other humans.

"I should what?" Hannibal's tone had warmed slightly, taking on a teasing tone. It was far too close to his other teasing tone, the easy, warm, honey over caramel teasing he used in his house, leaning against the fridge with his arms folded, stringing Will out until he was begging.

"You should...recognize some of the references that the killer makes to TV shows though," Will added quickly, "Most of these are tween shows aimed at girls."

Jack was leaning forward even further now, hand grabbing for the paper. "What TV show references?" Hannibal's face tightened at the intrusion into his personal space, his eyes alighting on the papers too, interested now. He had briefly seen the diary at the crime scene and there did not seem to be any reference to TV shows. The dark eyes flicked up to Will, a proud smile briefly touching the wolf like features. Then the dark eyes settled once again on the suit, drinking in the splash of crimson silk against Will's skin. His face tightened again, though not in annoyance this time. "What TV show references?" Jack asked again, aware Will had fallen silent.

Will cleared his throat and started again. "The third page. She references Marcelline."

Jack turned to the page, Hannibal's eyes following. Sure enough, there was a reference to a Marcelline. Jack shrugged. "I assumed that was another victim."

"She means Marcelline, the Vampire Queen."

"Another killer, perhaps?" Alana asked. The slightly murderous look that Will gave her made her sit back.

"It's a character on Adventure Time, a kids tv show."

Beverley slammed a hand onto the table, making Will's high strung nerves twang. "Of course! The chick with the black hair and the red clothes? I think I've seen it a few times. Will...." her eyes twinkled good naturedly. "You watch Adventure Time?"

A furious blush spread across Will's cheeks. Hannibal wanted to bite it off, to drag his teeth across the flushed cheekbones.

"Any more references then, Marcelline?" Jack asked, grinning.

Will's eyes met Hannibal's. They were the only eyes in the room not amused. Not laughing at him. The only ones that looked genuinely interested. "The naming of TV characters in a diary suggests a perhaps infantile mind. An underdeveloped personality perhaps?"

The snickering stopped as Hannibal gave them clues. Jack's mouth turned back down and he gave Will an approving nod instead. "What else can you pick up?"

Hannibal's foot against his own had crept slowly upwards, to where the patent leather was digging into his calf, catching at his knee. Will twisted slightly in the seat, toying with the top button of the silk shirt. The foot dug sharply into his calf at the movement. Will slid one hand below the table, rested it lightly on top of Hannibal's ankle and stroked the soft skin there. The other hand undid his top button.

Hannibal's ankle and foot snapped away from him sharply, the man standing up, the chair flying back, until Hannibal turned and caught it, setting it gracefully back down. Will looked after him in suprise, Hannibal leaning over the back of his chair, stretching out his back in that lion like way Will loved, kinking out the muscles in his shoulders. His hands had felt that slow rolling of sinew and bone last night and they ached to be there now. “Doctor Lecter, is there something wrong with your chair?” Jack asked, indicating the doctor should sit in it and let them get on with their work. 

The doctor did no such thing, but raised one arm above his head, pulled down on it with the other arm in a stretch. It caused the smooth silk of his shirt to stretch taut against his stomach, outlining the pectoral muscles a little higher up. The violent color of his tie was suddenly bright against his jawline, the shark like smile lighting up the room while the dark eyes glittered. “There is nothing wrong with my chair, Jack,” Hannibal replied. “I wish to stretch, I am no use to you injured or tired. Please, continue.”

The eyes of a wolf found Will’s again, one dark blonde eyebrow arching upwards like the slash of a knife. “Please, continue.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm thinking of writing this as a whole series of chapters where they each try to outdo each other dressing in outfits they know will get to the other. Like the leather jacket, or Will in a suit. Suggestions gladly taken!


End file.
